Gone Forever
by Whisperwill
Summary: What happened to Beifong's troops after they were captured by the Equalists? One shot.


**Gone Forever**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Legend of Korra_; someone else who's very lucky does. I didn't create it; that credit goes to the two geniuses and my role models, Mike DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. And I'm not making money by posting this story.**

**A/N: Originally completed 6/10/12. And all at once, within an hour or so! How often can an author say that? It's my first _Korra_ story, although I've written quite a few surrounding _The Last_ Airbender. So anyway, please tell me what you think by reviewing!**

Lin Beifong's platoon had been loyal to the end. No one could fault them for their actions this day, though they had been captured and now were locked in the back of a grumbling truck. No one would dream of speaking of them abusively, although now they lay bound, gagged, and curled in fetal positions on the floor of the trailer. But their sense of nobility didn't negate the slowly building dread within them. People who were captured by chi blockers _didn't come back_.

The engine shut off and the carriage stopped vibrating. Every breath was bated behind its rag. Then the door was thrown open and chi blockers, arrayed in their chilling masks, came in. The prisoners didn't have time to see much before they were blindfolded. They were helped to the ground and forced to march double-time, pushed from behind, tripping over unseen obstacles. Their footsteps made echoes, as though they were in a tunnel. Would anyone be able to find them where they were? Could they realistically expect a rescue?

After many minutes and many turns, they were shoved into a cell meant for fewer than they. The cloths were removed from their mouths and eyes. And they were left alone.

Hours stretched on. Still no one came. "Do you think they're just gonna leave us down here?" the youngest troop member asked.

"If I starve in here, that'd be the best outcome for me," declared another darkly. "It's better than—"

"Shut up!" snapped the captain. "Don't talk like that."

"But what if the Equalist leader comes?" the rookie blurted out.

"Sh!" came the shush from the captain. But this time he wasn't just trying to halt the conversation. His eyes were wide, his head cocked. "Listen!"

Metal boots on dirt. The police force would know it when they heard it—they wore armor constantly while on duty. Not that it would save them this time.

Five chi blockers stopped in front of the door. "Untie them." Most of the prisoners flinched at the order. The voice was unmistakable. It was Amon, and he was coming up to the bars. His followers unlocked the lock, slid back the grate, and filed in. There was hardly any room in the cell when all of them inside with their prey. But that didn't stop each and every man from lashing out violently when his restraints were removed. However, weakened by their previous battle and their cramped muscles, they were unable to overcome the blockers. Many scuffles, the thumps of fists hitting chakra points, and the shouts of men, were all part of the confusion. All of a sudden, the door slammed shut, and all noise stopped. They were locked in again.

And Amon was locked in with them.

Everyone froze at the sight of him. He stood calmly, not seeming to mind that all his servants were outside where they weren't readily available to help. Amon slid into a fighting stance. "You know your fate," he said to them, his voice as cold as the Water Tribes' Poles. With warrior cries of desperation, the hapless men threw themselves upon him from all sides. Amon's body whirled and his fists flew. They all fell back against the surrounding walls.

A shrewd foe, he seemed to know which one was the leader and attacked him first. His hands were on the captain's forehead before the victim had time to get a breath. His scream was wretched and short. After a mere few seconds, his head dropped to one side.

The method was fast and efficient. Amon stepped to the next nearest prisoner and pressed his fingers just below the man's hairline. There was time for but one quick appeal. "No, please!" But the only thing that came after that was a wail.

"Don't do this!" his next victim pleaded.

A howl of anguish.

"Take my arm, my leg—just not my bending!" sobbed the next man.

The squeal of one whose dignity and self-worth would never return.

The final, youngest, prisoner had recovered his wits and had to be subdued. Amon pinned the boy's arms behind him with one hand but pressed him up against the wall so that they could face each other. Raw terror was displayed in the doomed prisoner's wild eyes, copious sweat, hyperventilation.

"Just kill me," he gasped out. "Kill me instead."

"Can you not live without your Bending?" Amon hissed in his face. They eyes shadowed by the face mask were dark with hatred. "Is it a death sentence to be like the _rest_ of us?" There was a relish, a flourish, in the way he reached out and touched the boy's head.

One last, agonized scream.

They were left curled on the floor, the fortunate ones unconscious. Amon let himself out and stated without turning around, "In all you do, you Benders prove me right."

The door slid shut.

_~The End~_


End file.
